


Compromised

by cassandraoftroy



Category: Marvel Avengers Movies Universe, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Community: avengerkink, Consent Issues, Dirty Talk, F/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Oral Sex, Sex Pollen, Vaginal Sex, Vulnerability
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-28
Updated: 2012-08-28
Packaged: 2017-11-13 01:45:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/498066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cassandraoftroy/pseuds/cassandraoftroy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Avengers are forced to split up to deal with a threat on multiple fronts, and when Captain America and the Black Widow infiltrate an enemy installation, Natasha is exposed to an unknown biochemical agent. It has some... unusual side effects, and Steve must help her overcome them before they can rendezvous with the team.<br/>---<br/>Written for a prompt on the Avengerkink LJ community:</p>
<p>"Natasha gets hit with [pollen-like plot device], and Steve has to help see her through the predicament. With his cock, and stuff. And lots of foreplay.</p>
<p>I'd love to see her fight with staying focused and level-headed vs slipping into pure animalistic abandon. Especially if it makes her stalk around all predatory-sexy after Steve. (That said, he does choose to ~helpfully~ fuck her, and the sex is as consensual as pollen-induced sex can be.)</p>
<p>bonus - she's so crazy-horny in the head that as much as she tries to stay focused, she can't help dirty-talking him, particularly about his size."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Compromised

**Author's Note:**

> I tried to make this as consensual as possible, given the inherently dub-con nature of the prompt. It was also interesting watching characterization keep trying to sneak into the porny bits.

Not for the first time, Steve found himself wishing the rest of the team was here with them. It wasn’t that he was uncomfortable going on crazy solo missions without backup; that’s how he’d started his superheroing career, after all. But this wasn’t a solo mission, and if anything, _he_ was the backup. He could just barely track the form of the Black Widow ahead of him on the catwalk that rimmed the factory walls, and he knew that the only reason he could see her at all was that he already knew she was there. She moved with the sinuous grace of a predator on the hunt, stalking from shadow to shadow without a whisper of sound to betray her.

The other Avengers were across town, keeping the enormous mechanical monsters herded into as small an area of downtown as possible. Hawkeye, the Widow’s usual backup, would be watching from a rooftop, coordinating the other Avengers’ efforts and warning them if any of the robots began to stray. That’s why Steve was here instead, helping Natasha infiltrate the complex from which the control signals were being transmitted. Given her specialty, the Widow was taking point on this mission, putting Steve in the uncomfortable position of being her lookout and reinforcements. He felt better when the target was painted on his own chest, and his teammates were on hand to bail him out as necessary, than vice-versa. _No chance of letting them down that way._ He pushed aside imagined phantoms of snowy cliffsides and focused on the mission at hand.

Black Widow had paused at the end of the catwalk, crouching low to avoid being spotted from the factory floor as she surveyed it. Steve caught up with her, taking care that his shield didn’t reflect the fluorescent lights overhead and give away their position with its glare. "What’ve we got?" he whispered.

"Three working the machines in the center of the room, two more by the table against the north wall. Three entrances, in the north, east, and loading dock, plus the two on the upper level. Computer terminal on the west wall appears to be our target."

That matched what Steve’s quick glance of the room told him. "You take the three in the middle, I’ll get the other two?"

She shook her head. "Stay here and keep an eye out; there’re too many entrances. I don’t want to be caught by surprise if more show up." She nodded at his shield. "You’re almost as much help from up here as in close quarters."

He nodded, only a little uneasy. "Will do." He watched her grasp the edge of the catwalk and drop silently to the concrete floor below. The three men operating the machines a few yards away didn’t even turn around.

The other two, playing cards by the north entrance, were alerted to the attack by their colleagues' muffled cries. They had semiautomatic weapons, but it seemed to Steve that they were reluctant to hit the central machinery with stray fire, which threw off their aim. The Widow easily closed distance, disabling one with her own guns before she reached them. The other backed away, trying to run – and knocked into a tank of some sort of gas as he retreated. The uniformed man hit the concrete floor before the tank did, but a seal popped off the metal cylinder when it landed, and a pinkish-purple gas seeped out into the air. It expanded rapidly, filling an area several yards across – including the space where the Black Widow stood.

"Natasha!" Steve ran along the catwalk back the way they’d come, until he stood above her position. The gas cloud had spread by the time he got there, but hadn’t risen to the level of the catwalk; he guessed it was heavier than air. Natasha had staggered to the edge of the cloud, coughing spasmodically but still on her feet. He called down to her again, and she looked up at the sound of his voice, waving urgently for him to stay where he was.

Steve cast around for some way to help her – _a rope, a pole, anything_ – until his gaze landed on a red button under a clear plastic shield, labeled "Emergency Ventilation System." He flipped up the plastic and slapped the button. Panels on either end of the room slid clear of a set of huge industrial fans, which immediately spun to life. The roar of the wind they created made speech impossible, but Steve saw the Widow crouch down beside some crates to shield herself from the powerful blast of air. After a minute or two the fans powered down, seeming for a moment to spin in the opposite direction as they slowed to stillness.

He was on the ground before the protective covers had slid back into place over the fans. "Natasha. Are you all right?" She was still ducked behind the boxes, and he reached down to take her elbow and help her to her feet.

The next thing he knew, his arms were full of super-spy, and Natasha’s tongue was in his mouth. "Mmff!" he protested, pulling her firmly away by the shoulders. "What the hell?"

He looked down into her face. Her eyes were dark and glassy, and her full lips were slightly parted, flushed and swollen with arousal. "Steve, I can’t – I need you – touch me, please…" She reached for him again, but he held her at arm’s length.

"What the hell is going on?" he demanded, shaking her gently, trying to snap her out of whatever was affecting her.

It seemed to help, a little. She squeezed her eyes shut, shaking her head. "It’s… I think it’s the gas. It’s affecting my body, making me–" Her head snapped up, her eyes staring into his. That was all the warning he had. She knocked his arms away from her shoulders and hooked his leg out from under him with her heel, knocking him off balance; her next shove sent him to the ground. He saw stars for a moment when his head smacked into the concrete, and then she was on top of him. Her body writhed against his, hips grinding into his crotch, and she started kissing him again.

He shoved her hard in the sternum, sending her sprawling on the floor a few feet away. "Natasha." He put as much of Captain America into his voice as he could muster. "We have a mission. Our team needs us."

She stiffened, and her eyes cleared a little. "You’re right. I… the computer terminal. It’s over there." She pointed vaguely behind her, then struggled to stand. Against all his usual instincts, Steve didn’t offer to help her to her feet; physical contact seemed like a bad idea at the moment.

They made it to the other side of the room without further incident. Steve hung back a couple of paces, letting Natasha examine the controls. She tapped a few keys, looking at the monitor, but then her hand trailed away from the keyboard. It took Steve a second to realize that she was humping the corner of the console. "Natasha," he said sharply. "Can you get into their computers?"

She took a deep breath, trying to refocus her attention, but the exhalation came out more like a breathy moan. "I’m trying." Her voice was strained. She entered a few commands into the computer, but her keystrokes were halting, uncertain. The computer emitted a beeping noise that sounded negative. "I can’t… I can’t concentrate. _Damn it!_ " She slammed her fist down on the keyboard, her head down and her shoulders tight.

"All right, Plan B," he told her, unclipping a small pouch from her belt and withdrawing a pair of explosive charges. "We blow the whole thing to hell. Should shut off the signal."

She nodded, backing away with some difficulty as he set the charges on the computer terminal. Then he grabbed her arm and started running, heading for the evac route they’d planned before going in. They made it out without much difficulty, only encountering two other guards. Natasha shot one of them, but her hands were shaky and her aim was uncertain; Steve took out the other with his shield. He shoved her into the Quinjet ahead of him, climbing in carefully in case she jumped him again.

He found her in the cockpit, gripping the steering shaft with white-knuckled fingers. "Just get us in the air, Romanov," she muttered, "Just take off, and get us in the air. Fuck," she snarled, "I can’t do this. I need you, Rogers." She turned in her seat, looking up at him where he stood in the cockpit doorway. "Please. Fuck me. I need you. I need that big, hard, super-soldier cock. I need you to make this _stop_."

He used his commander voice again. "Strap in, and get us in the air," he repeated her own words back at her. "I have to check on the rest of the team." He waited until he heard the _click_ of her harness buckle before turning his back and activating his comm. "Stark? Report."

Tony Stark’s flippant tone was a relief, for once – it told Steve more quickly than the words did that his team was all right. "Everything’s under control on this end. Couple of minutes ago, all the baddies toppled over like marionettes with their strings cut. Is every battle we have gonna end like that?" He made an amused noise. "How are things on your end?"

"Mission accomplished, but…" Steve hesitated, unsure of how much of Natasha’s condition he should share. SHIELD Medical should have all the information available in order to treat her effectively, but he doubted that Natasha would want Tony to know about her current state. "But Agent Romanov was exposed to an unknown chemical agent. Have a medical team standing by when we arrive."

"Will do." His voice had gone Iron Man serious. "Is she all right?"

Steve chose his words carefully. "She seems disoriented, with some trouble focusing, but she doesn’t appear to have suffered any serious harm yet. I still want that medical team on hand."

"You got it," he replied. "What’s your ETA?"

He spared a glance over his shoulder at Natasha, strapped into the pilot’s seat. The Quinjet’s engines were still cold. "Hard to say. I’ll keep you posted."

"Call us if you need anything," Tony instructed, and then the comm went quiet.

Steve returned to the doorway of the cockpit. Natasha was still strapped into the pilot's seat, and was fondling the flight control stick in a way that had nothing to do with piloting. He couldn't understand the words she was muttering under her breath in Russian, but from the tone of her voice, it sounded like she was swearing a blue streak. Her head snapped around when she heard his footsteps, and she stared at him with that same glassy, needy gaze. "Steve, I can't do this."

"Yes you can, Agent." He tried to keep his voice firm, but a touch of gentleness seeped in. "Close your eyes, and walk me through the ignition sequence."

She held his gaze a moment longer, but finally nodded and settled into the chair, leaning back into the headrest. In a halting monotone, she recited the steps required to start the Quinjet's engines and achieve vertical takeoff. Steve tried not to watch where her hand wandered as it slipped off the flight control stick and headed south.

Her voice trailed off at the end of the recitation. "Good," Steve told her. "Now you're going to do it. One step at a time, just like you described." He may not know how to fly the plane – his first and only piloting experience had been a decidedly one-way trip – but he could talk her through the start-up sequence now. He repeated her own instructions back to her, step by step, and Natasha fumbled through the ignition and takeoff maneuvers. Their ascent was only a little wobbly.

When they were well in the air, she flipped a switch in the upper right corner of the console, and red text flashed above it: "Autopilot Engaged." The Quinjet leveled out and began a smooth flight through the clouds. Immediately Natasha reached for the buckle of her harness, clawing at it for a moment before she found the clasp. Then she was out of her seat and in his arms again.

Steve backed away, fighting the urge to snatch up his shield from where he'd left it on one of the benches. "Natasha, stop. We can't do this. This isn't what you want."

She swallowed hard, then licked her lips in a manner that probably wasn't intended to be as sensuous as it looked. "Maybe not, but I _need_ it. Please, help me."

"That's what I'm trying to do. You're under the influence of that gas. It's affecting your–"

_"Don't you think I know that?"_ she snapped. This time Steve did grab for his shield. With an effort, she turned away from him, grasping the edge of one of the overhead storage racks above the bench that ran alongside the cabin wall. There was brittle tension in every line of her body. It took several breaths before she spoke again. "I know you're trying to do the right thing by me. The effects of the gas on my body are impairing my ability to consent. You don't want me to do anything that I'll regret once it's no longer affecting me. And I'm grateful for that. You're a good man, Steve, and I trust you. But you really don't understand."

If anything, this tense, trembling, barely-controlled Natasha was more disturbing than the lust-crazed vixen he'd been fighting off a moment before. "What don't I understand?" he asked, unsure that he was prepared for the answer.

"I'm afraid," she admitted, then paused, as though she'd surprised herself with the confession. "But not for the reason you think. I've been in questionable sexual situations before. Used my body for the mission, and _been_ used by my handlers. I'm not afraid of you splitting me wide open with that big, beautiful cock, fucking me long and hard and making me scream your name..." She dropped her head, panting. Her knees were shaking slightly, he could see.

She turned to face him, still clinging to the overhead rack with one hand. "I'm afraid of _this_ ," she said, gesturing with her free hand to encompass both herself and the situation. "I can't concentrate. I can't break into a simple computer system. I can't fly the plane. I can barely fight. I can't do my job, or even defend myself. All I can do is think about how badly I want to choke on that cock, and take every inch of you all the way down my throat, suck down your come, and then let you bend me over this bench and fuck me till I see stars." Her chest was heaving with her labored breath, and Steve noticed that she'd unzipped the front of her jumpsuit much lower than usual. "This is what I'm afraid of, Steve. I can't function. I'm _compromised_. That's what frightens me. I need my control back. I need this to stop. Please help me make it stop." She didn't come any closer to him; though her body strained in his direction, she kept a death-grip on the storage rack above her.

"I can't take advantage of you like this, Natasha," he replied slowly. "When the effects of the gas wear off, we'll both have to live with what happened, and I can't do that to you."

_"Damn it_ , Steve," she snarled, "you don't get it. You're not taking advantage of me. You don't see this as an opportunity to sex me up. Anything we do right now, you'd be doing to help me, not for your own gratification. I know that about you. It would be no different than when I smashed Barton's skull in to free him from Loki's mind control."

Steve lowered the shield a fraction. "How do we know it would work? I mean, even if we did..." he gestured awkwardly with his free hand, "...things, how do you know it would end the effects of the gas?"

Natasha shook her head. "I'm not sure, but I think it will. Some sort of instinct. I know that if I can get your big, thick, wet cock inside me..." She clamped her eyes shut and took a slow, deliberate breath. "It'll make me stop feeling like his. I'm sure of it. I just need to... get it out of my system."

"I told Iron Man to have a medical team on site when we rendezvous with the others," he offered. "They could check you out, and see if there's another way to help you, or if... what you're suggesting... will neutralize your symptoms."

When she opened her eyes again, they were clearer than they'd been since she was first hit with the gas, except for the glimmer of tears beginning to well up in them. "Please, Steve. I don't want to feel like this anymore."

The arm holding the shield dropped to his side, and the vibranium disc clattered to the cabin floor. "If you're sure. I don't want to hurt you."

Her hand slid away from the metal bar of the storage rack, and she paced slowly toward him. When she was close, she slipped her arms around his neck. She never for a moment released his gaze. "Then _help_ me."

Steve wondered briefly if the right thing to do wouldn't be to simply knock her unconscious and wait for her symptoms to pass, or get her into the hands of that medical team – but he quickly rejected the idea; even in her current impaired state, her reflexes were too good for him to be sure of knocking her out immediately, and anything else would turn out badly for them both. He had to trust that, even like this, she knew herself well enough to steer him right. And he hated seeing that fear in her eyes. Praying that he was doing the right thing, he bent his head down to touch his lips to hers.

Her mouth was warm and pliant under his touch, and he felt her twine her fingers in the hair at the back of his head. His hands moved to encircle her waist, and he eased her gently down to the deck. As he lay down beside her, he pulled off his gloves. He recoiled when his bare skin touched the cold deck plating. "There's a blanket in with the first aid supplies," he offered, shifting to get up again, "just give me a second."

Natasha caught his wrist before he could get his feet under him. "I'm fine," she told him. "We'll use our clothes. They'll have to come off anyway." It was her wry smile that kept him from shaking out of her grip to retrieve the blanket.

Instead, he lay back down next to her, cupping her cheek with his hand. "I could use some help with mine," he told her. "It's got a lot of buckles and straps."

"Is it my birthday?" she teased, her hands already moving to "unwrap" him.

"I don't actually know when your birthday is," Steve admitted, reaching for the zipper of her jumpsuit.

Her deft fingers worked one of the buckles of his uniform free before she replied. "Neither do I."

Steve filed that information away for a later mission; the team would undoubtedly get behind _Operation: Natasha's Birthday Party_. For now, he simply kissed her again, and pulled the zipper down as far as it would go. She shrugged out of the sleeves of her jumpsuit, then reached to unclasp his belt.

In a few moments more, they'd managed to strip one another out of most of their clothes. Their boots had been pitched into various corners of the cabin. Steve pulled Natasha close, and as she ground her pelvis against his stiffening cock, he reached behind her to unfasten the hooks of her brassiere. She tossed the undergarment away before he could remove it for her.

Her nipples were already firm and erect, and when he brushed one of them with the pad of his thumb, she gasped, her fingers digging into the muscles of his shoulders. He rolled the nipple gently between his thumb and forefinger, then gave it a sharp squeeze. Natasha stifled her moan against his shoulder, biting down on the hard flesh. He rolled her onto her back, her head pillowed on his uniform shirt, and brought his mouth down onto her other nipple. He swirled his tongue around it once, twice, then caught it with his teeth and began sucking gently. Her back arched, and with nothing to muffle her cries against, they echoed through the cabin.

His hand glided down her smooth abdomen and came to rest for a moment over the waistband of her panties. He trailed his fingers down the satiny material covering her intimate parts, stroking the space between her legs through the cotton crotch of the underwear. She was already so wet that the fabric felt damp under his fingers. Steve slipped a forefinger under the soaked cotton and into her slit, finding the swollen nub of her clit by touch, using her murmurs and moans as a guide.

He began rubbing, his finger sliding up and down through her slick folds. He moved slowly at first, savoring the heat of her body and the soft whimpers that his touch provoked. As she started to writhe under his touch, his fingers worked faster, a second one coming to join the first in its quick strokes. "Don't stop," she breathed, and her hand clenched into a fist in his hair. He felt her thighs tense on either side of his hand. A high, throaty moan welled up from within her, and she mashed his face against her breast. He kept nibbling and sucking dutifully as she bucked against his hand.

When the tremors subsided and he felt her muscles slacken, he raised his head and looked up at her face. "Natasha?" he asked.

She lifted her head to blink at him through the orgasmic haze clouding her thoughts. "It's... _damn!"_ Her head dropped back against the deck plates with a soft _thunk_. "It's not gone. I need more." Her tongue peeked out to moisten her lips. "I need your cock, Steve. Let me..." She stirred, propping herself up on one elbow while the other hand reached for his boxers. "You don't need these," she instructed, tugging at the fabric.

Steve shifted his hips, letting her yank the boxers down around his ankles, where he could kick them off. Her hand was fever-warm when it closed around his shaft and started moving, sliding the foreskin up and down with each stroke. She pushed his shoulders down toward the deck plates, and he obediently stretched out, lying on his discarded trousers and part of her jumpsuit. He stared at the ceiling of the cabin, unsure of how to proceed – whether he should actively cooperate, or simply let Natasha do what she needed to do.

"It's all right for you to enjoy this, you know," she said softly, her voice rising up from where she'd nestled herself between his legs. "I know the only reason you agreed to this was for my sake, and you're trying to be a gentleman, but I promise you, I'm very good at this. Look at me." The last statement was a command, and given Natasha's position, Steve didn't think it would be wise to argue. He propped himself up on his elbows and looked down his body at her.

Natasha caught his gaze in hers and held it, her blue eyes wide as she stared up at him from between his thighs. Slowly, deliberately, and without breaking eye contact, she licked her lips and lowered her head, opening her mouth to take in the tip of his cock.

For a moment, Steve forgot how to breathe, but the demands of his arousal quickly forced his diaphragm into motion again. He gasped, unable to tear his eyes away from Natasha's. Her lips slid down the length of his cock, taking several inches of his shaft into her mouth until he felt the glans brush the back of her throat. There was a slight tremor as she fought her gag reflex, and then just as slowly, she pulled back until she held only the head of his cock in her mouth. Her tongue swirled around the ridge between the head and shaft, pressing firmly on the underside where it felt the most sensitive. She teased the slit with the tip of her tongue. And all the while, she never dropped his gaze.

It was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

In a rush, she thrust herself forward onto his cock, and he felt himself slam into the soft tissues of her throat. He felt her muscles convulse as she stifled the urge to gag, pushing herself further along his shaft, until her lips brushed the hair at the base of his cock. One of her hands had crept up to cradle his balls, and a single finger pressed gently against the patch of soft skin just behind them. Her mouth was watering, and what little he could see of his cock below her lips glistened with her saliva.

Between the visuals and the sensation spreading out from his cock, it was just too much. He finally broke eye contact when the muscles of his neck surrendered to the tide of pleasure, and his head lolled back between his shoulders. "Natasha," he groaned, "I think I'm gonna..."

"Not yet," she told him sharply, slipping his cock out of her mouth. "I want you inside me."

His brain wasn't firing on all cylinders, so she was straddling his hips before his next objection fought its way clear of the fog of pleasure enveloping his thoughts. "I don't have a rubber."

She shook her head, and then lightly tapped her upper arm with two fingers. "Contraceptive implant – and a clean bill of health from SHIELD Medical. Unless you've got an issue?"

"No." The word had only barely passed his lips before Natasha thrust her pelvis down, guiding him inside her with one small, deft hand. Her mouth had been hot, wet bliss, but it was nothing compared to her pussy. His hips bucked reflexively, thrusting deeper into her. The slick juices of her arousal helped him slide in easily, and he could feel the muscles of her insides contract around him. An incomprehensible string of syllables spilled from his lips, and he nearly came right then.

Her hands were on his chest, and her shove sent his elbows out from under him so that he lay flat on his back on their strewn clothes. She moved one hand to the floor beside his right flank, and rested the other on his shoulder. Steve's own hands moved to curl around her hips, thumbs running over the ridge of bone in a gentle caress before he settled his grip. He squeezed lightly, savoring the feeling of softness and firm muscle that mingled under his hands.

It didn't take them long to find their rhythm. Here, as on the battlefield, they found themselves anticipating each other's movements, moving where the other needed them, working as the team they had become. Natasha fucked like she fought: with fluid grace and deadly power that never for a moment compromised her beauty. Her dark red hair bounced in her eyes, and her mouth fell open in a silent scream of pleasure. It didn't stay silent for long. "God, Steve," she breathed, her words punctuated by a series of grunting, hissing, and panting sounds. She tried to speak again, to tell him how good his cock felt, how much she wanted it, needed it, but her ability to speak eventually lost the battle with her mounting pleasure.

The hand on his shoulder disappeared, snaking down the length of his torso until it slipped between Natasha's legs. He could feel the occasional brushes of her fingers against his cock as she touched herself, coaxing her arousal to a fever pitch even as he continued to thrust into her. Finally her inner muscles clamped around him as tight as a fist, and her scream reverberated off the cabin walls. He didn't know how long her orgasm lasted, but the pulsing grip of her pussy around him was enough to push him over the edge. His fingers dug into her sides with bruising force as he thrust into her again and again, milking the last drops of come from his cock.

They remained frozen in place for a moment longer, Natasha kneeling above him, Steve's hands on her hips. Then she lowered herself down onto his chest, slowly, unsteadily, as though her limbs were no longer willing to support her.

Steve waited until their breathing had begun to even out before he moistened his dry lips and asked, "Natasha?"

With an effort, she rolled off of him and onto the clothes pile on the deck. She studied the ceiling for several breaths before answering. "It's over," she said at last, her voice barely above a whisper. "It's gone."

He was suddenly painfully aware of her nudity, and his own. He sat up, grabbing the nearest garment to hand – his own boxers, thankfully – and held them protectively over his crotch. "We should get back to the others," he said. "You should have the medical team check you over, and make sure there are no other effects from the–"

Natasha caught his arm before he could turn away and stand up. "Thank you, Steve," she told him, holding his gaze in her own. "I know you were concerned about how I would feel after. I want you to know that I'm okay, and I'm grateful for what you did." She let her words sink in for a moment before asking, "Are _you_ all right?"

Steve blinked. "What do you mean?"

"I didn't exactly leave you a lot of choice, under the circumstances. I'm sorry for that."

He touched her hand, where it still rested on his arm. "I didn't feel that way," he assured her. "I was just worried about you." He gave her a lopsided smile that felt more anxious than anything else. "Are things gonna be okay between us, after this? I mean, I don't really know how people usually..." He trailed off, not actually certain what it was that people usually _did_ that he wasn't sure about.

"Steve." The look Natasha gave him suggested that she thought he was being endearingly dense. "My body isn't the most intimate or private part of me you've seen today. Don't let _that_ be what makes this awkward for you. And as for the rest," she shrugged. "We're a team. In time, we'll all see each other at our most vulnerable, the bits of ourselves that we try to hide from the world. That's what learning to trust each other means." She favored him with a smile that he hadn't seen before; it was a little uneven, a little shy, and a little sardonic. He thought that it might be her _real_ smile.

"But you're right," she continued, dropping his arm and reaching for her panties, which she'd managed to shed while he was distracted. "We should go find the others. They'll be wondering what happened to us, and I should probably surrender myself to that medical team you sent for. You should too, actually," she pointed out, glancing at him as she stepped into her underwear more gracefully than he would've thought possible, "to make sure you didn't pick up any secondary contamination from my exposure."

Steve considered this for a moment as they dressed, with his back turned to her in what probably seemed like an absurd attempt to respect her privacy. He didn't know much about biological contaminants, or how they'd interact with the super-soldier serum, but it didn't seem worth finding out. "Probably a good idea," he agreed. He turned back to find her tying the laces of her boots, already fully dressed. "Think you're all right to fly this thing?"

Her smile was calm and confident when she looked up at him. "Absolutely."


End file.
